Chapter Three: The Old Woman of the Mountain
Tranith Argan: Book 4
Much to their surprise, the travelers see an old woman approaching who shows signs of living in Mount Majestic.
The four of them stood frozen in surprise as the woman slowly approached. None of them felt threatened by such a slow-moving elderly woman who did not appear armed, yet the presence of anyone in this mountain so startled them they had no appropriate response at first. It was Alessa who finally broke the silence.
“She is an elf!”
The others looked at the woman who was now about twenty feet away, and at this distance they could not see what it was that Alessa noticed. The woman came closer until she was about ten feet away and then stopped. She appeared to be as surprised by her visitors as they were by her.
She wore a flowing pale-green robe that fell nearly to the ground. Around her waist was a sash of light blue and, as with the robe, appeared to be in only fair condition, worn in certain places and faded in others. The woman was shorter than Alessa yet still relatively tall. She was equal in height to Kara, but she had the look of someone who had been taller earlier in her life. She was quite old, her hair totally white as it flowed thickly to her shoulder. It was brushed back neatly in a way that they could see indicated she cared about her appearance. Her wrinkled face held green eyes that looked faded but still contained the fire that was to be found in all elves.
She was close enough now that her inner light could be seen by the others and clearly was how Alessa had identified her as kindred.
“Who are you?” the old woman asked, her right arm raised to point at the visitors, the cloth from the robe hanging a foot below her arm.
“We are travelers,” began Felanar, who stepped forward and bowed slightly in respect toward this older elf, “simply passing through and we had no knowledge of anyone being under the mountain. We apologize for intruding upon your home. We meant nothing rude by this and ask your forgiveness.”
“Hmm . . . a polite one, for a man,” the woman said in a low voice roughened with age. “You,” she said, pointing at Alessa, “are you with this man?”
Alessa bowed low and said, “Yes, we travel together, the four of us. I admit to being very surprised at seeing a fellow elf under the mountain.”
“Then there are two of us surprised,” the elderly elf replied with a half-smile. “I am not used to strangers, and I am alone so much I have forgotten my manners. Would you please be seated and I will gather refreshments?”
She pointed to a wooden bench topped with pillows, upon which the four of them now sat. The woman walked slowly over to a table that contained several vessels of various shapes and sizes. She gathered cups and poured a liquid into them, and then placed the cups on a tray along with a plate of food. She then slowly walked over to where the others sat, placed the tray down on a long, flat table in front of them, and then sat on a chair opposite them.
“Please, help yourselves, my young visitors.”
They reached for the cups and found that it contained typically elven fruit drink, a pale orange in color, and cool to the tongue. It was as good as any other elven drink Felanar had taken in the past, but their recent deprivations in the wilderness made this drink sweeter than any he had known. He closed his eyes in delight as the orange liquid slid down his throat. The woman saw this and smiled in delight. She got up and went for the vessel containing the liquid and brought it back to fill up their cups a second time.
“You all look tired and, pardon the rudeness, dirty from travel. Please, eat what I have provided for you. Do not worry about me, I never want for food and drink in this place.”
As they ate the meal she had placed in front of them, Alessa kept looking around the large room lit by skylights cut through the rock into the daylight. The room was filled with elven objects and art work that reminded her of Elaria. One tapestry in particular made her cry out in delight. Turning to the tapestry as the woman followed Alessa's eyes, she asked, “It is a good likeness?”
“It is, it is the land around Faála perfectly!” cried Alessa. “It is beautiful.”
“I am glad to hear it, for it is so long since I have seen Faála that I began to wonder if my memory was accurate.”
“How long have you lived here?” asked Kara.
“Here?” repeated the woman. “I have lived here many a season, many a season. But it has been longer yet since I was in Elaria. I have lived in many places in my long life . . .”
“Excuse me for asking,” said Dolen gruffly as he wiped his mouth, “but I have come to be friends with Alessa here and she has made it clear to me that an elf would not usually choose to live underground. Why are you here?”
At Alessa's name being mentioned the woman glanced over at the elf, and when she answered Dolen's question she directed it at Alessa.
“I know your name,” she said slowly, “you are the daughter of Heléste, are you not? I get some news here from time to time, and I know your name.”
Alessa nodded and smiled. “Do you know my parents?”
The woman nodded but did not return the smile.
“I am Helóne,” she said. “Have you heard of me?”
Alessa glanced at Felanar and then back at the woman.
“I have not, I am afraid to say. Are you friends with my mother?”
“That is not the word I would use,” said Helóne. “So you were not sent here by your father?”
“Oh no, not at all,” said Alessa. “We are merely trying to get back home. He does not even know we are here. I would love to get word to him that we are safe. Are there birds in the area that could be trusted to send a message to my father?”
“There are birds who visit me in great number,” replied Helóne, “and all of them can be trusted. Yet not one of them would take a message to Elaria unless I gave the command, and I do not think that will be likely.”
“Why?” asked Alessa. “Do you and my father not get along for some reason?”
Helóne stared at Alessa for a moment and then closed her eyes with a gesture of tiredness.
“You are very young, my child,” she said with eyes closed. “I see that you are but a baby of my people.” She opened her eyes and addressed Felanar. “Have you ever seen such an old elf?”
“I can't say that I have, Helóne.”
“With old age comes many memories. If this is so for a man, can you imagine what it must be like for an elf?”
“I'm sure I cannot,” Felanar said quietly.
“I am sure you cannot either,” said Helóne with a tinge of bitterness. “Tell me, what are your names?”
Dolen, Felanar and Kara introduced themselves by name only.
“I do not know them,” Helóne said about the names.
To that Felanar and Kara exchanged glances. Whatever news she got in this place, it evidently did not include news of Argan or Khrea. Felanar saw no need to expand on their identities, so he said nothing in response. Helóne turned back to Alessa.
“So you know nothing of the mad woman of Majestic? No stories of my lonely existence?”
“If you are lonely,” said Alessa, “come with us to Elaria where you belong.”
“Where I belong!” cried Helóne with such a fervor that the others jumped. The elderly woman stood slowly until her body was extended fully, and from this position she looked down at the others in anger.
“Do you not think I would travel to Elaria if it were up to me? Do you not think that before I cease to exist I would like to see Faála, place of my birth, instead of this imitation on the wall? Do you not think I would like the presence of others of my kind?” She caught her breath and Alessa jumped in.
“I repeat what I said, you are welcome to join us in Elaria. I think I speak for my father when I extend this invitation.”
“You do not speak for your father in this instance,” said Helóne with sadness as she sank back into her chair. “You most certainly do not speak for him here, no, not at all.”
“Why?” asked Alessa, “What do you mean?”
Helóne eyed Alessa warily.
“You really have not heard of me, have you? So it might come as a surprise to you to know that I am banished from Elaria, and it was your grandfather who made this command, and it was your father who extended it, and no doubt your brother Dalonír who will one day extend it yet again when he takes power, if I live that long!”
Alessa found this revelation stunning. All she could think to say was a sputtered, “Wh- what did you do?”
“See?” asked Helóne as she looked at the others. “It must be me at fault, or so she immediately assumes.”
“I meant no disrespect, Helóne,” said Alessa quickly, “I just meant what was the reason given for your banishment, justified or not.”
“Humph, that is more like it,” the old woman said. “Excuse me for being rude, but it is a small matter to you but a great one to me. It has become the central question of my existence, I think you can imagine, and so I like to get the little details straight. For you see, my young elf, I am banished for the most basic of reasons that has ever been given in life. I was banished for love.”
Silence enveloped the room. Helóne closed her eyes and kept them closed for several minutes. The others said nothing. A few more minutes passed and the others began to wonder if the elf had fallen asleep she was so still. Then she slowly got up and wordlessly walked over to the wall tapestries. Next to the one picturing Faála, Felanar suddenly noticed, was one that to his great astonishment pictured the city of Tranith Argan nestled in the mountain. Helóne stood in front of it and stared at it for a long time while the room remained silent. Finally she turned to face the others and began her tale.
“Yes, I see your face, Felanar,” she began, “you must be from Argan, though your accent is not how I remember my people talking, but it has been so long that perhaps the way people talk has now changed. Yes, you heard me right, I said 'my' people for they were my people at one time even though I was never one of them. Not really one of them, as I came to learn.”